A Helping Hand
by symphony-regina
Summary: [OneShot] Courfeyrac and Feuilly meet at the Cafe Musain. Typical Courfayrac and Feuilly stuff. Slash or just friendly boys? You decide. Drabble that went over the line.


**+clears throat+ Yes, hi. It's me again. Terribly long chapter, kinda for Barricade Day.**

The sun shone brilliantly on the buildings of the Latin Quarter and the cafes that were around it. It was just a spring day with unpredictable showers with the sun shining straight after rain comes. Despite the many complaints of the citizens the unruly weather was actually quite nice. The sun shone on the rain drops, turning everything into a masterpiece of nature. Sun shone on everything; leaves in the wind became elegant dancers and everyone, from nobles to beggars, was bathed in a regal halo.

Of course, Mathieu Courfeyrac hardly noticed anything concerning this lovely weather. He laughed at Prouvaire's poetic prose and pretended to listen intently to Combeferre's observations; that the sun was the true and benevolent king, that he shone equally on everything. He had just finished his noonday meal with Combeferre at another café and decided to go to the Musain to read up on some recent law cases, so he was well-prepared for the next lectures.

Haha, fooled you, did I not?

Upon entering the backroom he saw Marc Feuilly bent over a dented table and, of course, at work. His eyes were squinted over his current piece of work. But Courfeyrac had never greatly appreciated the great arts, or the common ones at that, so he paid no heed to the delicate canvas and what was on it.

"Good afternoon, Feuilly," he said mechanically. He still hadn't gotten around to calling everyone by their first names, like Combeferre did. It was perfectly awkward and he felt like he was back at school. Plus, he felt in position and like a true man.

Feuilly didn't look up, but grunted in reply. "Hello, Courfeyrac."

The university student grimaced in reply, and then sat himself down at a nearby table. At that very moment Louison scuttled by in her nervous glory. Mathieu called her and ordered for some cheese and wine. Said waitress nodded her head and scuttled out exactly as she scuttled in.

When the food came Courfeyrac hesitated not to tuck in. How lovely was it that the cheese had no maggots to spoon out! In fact, it was deemed more than edible, it was actually quite delicious. A grin crossed his pretty face.

He ate in silence and the fan maker worked in silence. Until, out the quite, came the words of Feuilly: "Damn." His muttering voice seeped through the cracks of the whole room.

At first Mathieu took absolutely no notice of the filthy words that were streaming out of the other man's mouth, he was used to hearing and saying them anyways, but quite soon the words became more distressed, more frequented, and finally he threw his down his fan and gave a sort of choked cry.

"What happens to be the matter, Feuilly?" Courfeyrac asked calmly though he had dropped his hunk of cheese when he heard the cry.

Feuilly stared at him for a moment, green eyes livid, as if he had just been mocked at. "I have three sisters and a brother at home who can't fend for themselves. I hardly make thirty francs a week in this horrid profession and now I'm possibly at the verge of losing this job. Now, if I must, I have to return to the construction area to haul stones. But I'm not strong enough for that, am I—" he broke off for breath. He was breathing unevenly.

The words scared Courfeyrac slightly. Feuilly had always been calm in almost all situations, who hardly said anything digressive during meetings, and now he was having a spastic seizure. Mathieu grimaced slightly. "Oh? What makes you say that?"

There was no immediate reply, but Feuilly took the castaway fan into his delicate hands slowly, like a newborn child. The fan was held at an angle that Courfeyrac could see the designs on it clearly. It was not the best fan he had seen in his life, like the ones made by royal artists, but it was certainly nice to look at. It had a nice bird of blue and brown sitting on a twig with a pretty picture-esque leaves on them. The whole fan would have been perfect if some threads hadn't been out of place, some details skewed or a criss-crossed colour that seemed to hurt the eyes.

Courfeyrac must have been staring at it for so long that the artist's eyes found the line of vision. "Ah, yes, my fans." He sighed loudly. "Like all arts, I'm sure, fan-making requires attention to detail," his sentences were worded delicately, "but one must have a good vision for these tasks. I—I fear I may have failing vision or some other medical jargon." He shrugged sadly.

"So you're saying you can't see well?"

"Exactly, I'm afraid." Feuilly smiled sadly.

"There's a solution!" Courfeyrac blurted suddenly, brightly. "Combeferre and a few students at the Sorbonne have spectacles, I can talk to one of them and have a pair made for you." He smiled brightly.

At the very sound of this Feuilly's face contorted into a gentle sort of rage. "Ah yes, for you rich students there is a solution for everything. But us workers?" He scoffed sadly and picked up his needle.

_Does he ever appreciate?_ the student asked himself quietly. "I can help you pay…" he mumbled, but received nothing in reply. As silence overtook the two boys he heard a silence grumbling. "Are you hungry?" Courfeyrac gently asked, sure that the sound came from a stomach.

Feuilly turned red. "You heard that?"

Courfeyrac nodded his head solemnly. He looked at his remaining cheese and finally handed it to the fan maker. "Here…and get Louison to get some bread for you and your siblings."

When the cheese was finally in his grasp Feuilly looked at it to make sure no bite marks or saliva was on it. But what did it matter? "I haven't got a sou on me," he muttered. Despite his weak protest the cheese was half gone in the blink of an eye, but he wrapped the last half in a handkerchief to save for his family.

"Here are twenty francs, all I have in my pocket." Courfeyrac threw a crisp wad at him. Feuilly's large eyes opened up and a flush went up his cheeks. He grabbed at the wad greedily, eyes staring at it with a calm sense of wonder.

But his vision soon turned to Courfeyrac, whom he stared at pointedly. "I should repay you…"

Courfeyrac laughed and took a sip of wine. His eyes traveled lazily to Feuilly's flushed face, a smile crossed his own. "My dear Feuilly, I can share my money. But you won't let me see to your eyes?" he added, concerned.

Feuilly sighed. "No, not yet. I'm sure I'll be fine for a while." He shrugged in an apathetic way, though a small, serene smile was one his face. Then he rose up from his chair and tipped his hat to his richer half. "I should be going to my siblings. Good day."

That gave Courfeyrac a bit of an idea. He jumped from his seat and tagged along beside Feuilly. "I want to meet them."

"Oh, really." his face showed discontent and general annoyance, but yet he made no other forms of protest. "Their names are Marie, Adele, Camille and Pascal, but didn't need to know that." A flitter of a smile at the thought of his family.

Courfeyrac smiled lightly, and followed the fan maker out of the café and onto the streets. As the two walked down the cobbled path, side by side, their hands brushed against one another's. And, for the first time in quite a while, Feuilly grinned.

**Ooh. You made it this far? Good for you. Reviews? Hated, loved, liked? **


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